


The Babel Discrepancy

by Telperien



Category: Batman (Comics), Justice League of America (Comics)
Genre: Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bruce Wayne is A Detective, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Fix-It, Gen, Tower of Babel (DCU)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telperien/pseuds/Telperien
Summary: Batman is a detective. He finds inconsistencies and tracks them to the source to uncover the truth. So after the rage left him and he recovered his parents’ bodies from Ra’s al Ghul, he is left with a question: Why steal only Thomas and Martha’s bodies when Jason’s was there as well and when Jason’s loss is rawer?(Set afterBatman: No Man’s LandandJLA: Tower of Babel.)
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 42
Kudos: 185





	1. Chapter 1

It was a little thing, really, but ever since Ra’s al Ghul stole the bodies of Bruce’s parents and suspended them over a Lazarus Pit, his mind had not been on Thomas and Martha Wayne or even on Ra’s al Ghul himself, though he was certainly part of it. Instead, Bruce caught himself dwelling on what the Demon’s Head had _not_ done when he sought to destroy Batman.

He had not disturbed the grave of Bruce’s son.

Why would he not? Why steal only Thomas and Martha’s bodies when Jason’s was nearby and when his loss was rawer? Ra’s al Ghul was a man fixated on biological lineage, but he had proven himself capable of understanding Bruce’s own view on family, if only to use it against him. To leave Jason’s grave undisturbed was downright neglectful, considering he meant to torment Batman as effectively as he had tormented the other members of the JLA, and after seven centuries, Ra’s al Ghul was nothing if not methodical in his cruelty. He would not make such an error without good reason.

Alfred believed Bruce was dwelling on something inconsequential to distract himself from his recent troubles. Bruce believed no detail was inconsequential, but he didn’t argue with Alfred. He didn’t want the butler to remind him of everything that had gone wrong in his life these past three and a half years.

It had started with Jason’s murder. Bruce had already suffered the loss of his parents at a young age, but the loss of his son had been something else, something unrecognizable. He had felt as if he were unspooling, and the presence of a third Robin had done little to stop his freefall. He had pretended otherwise for the sake of Dick and Alfred, who had compelled him to take on another protege, as though _that_ were the problem, and Tim, who had needed to learn compassion to counteract his intelligence and privilege, but Bruce had known it was pretense from the start.

Bane had proven that. Bruce had already been weak and in low spirits when Bane released the inmates from Arkham Asylum, and he had only gotten weaker as the days progressed. He had broken, and though he recovered physically, he was not sure he had put himself back together. Not yet, maybe not ever. 

The Clench and its high death toll, not to mention the threat that they would lose Tim to it too, had hurt him further, but it was the Quake and No Man’s Land that had done the most damage to the city and to him. The people of Gotham (both those who stayed and those who fled) had lost so much during their _annus horribilis_ , and now O.G.s and deezees were at each other’s throats, unable to work together when they most needed to.

And now he was no longer a member of the Justice League. The JLA had voted him out because Talia had stolen his plans, which were only to be used in case one of his allies went rogue, and she and her father had enacted them. They said it was a betrayal of their trust to plan their downfalls so clinically. They refused to admit that he had no choice but to plan ahead when they had already seen Hal Jordan turn to villainy with nobody to stop him.

They had not been sympathetic regarding the betrayal Bruce had suffered. They had not even wanted to share their grief over the millions of people killed in those hours when language ceased to make sense.

It was just as well. Bruce had always worked best on his own and with his handful of proteges. Only, Nightwing had his work in Bludhaven, Robin was on a short leash at Brentwood Academy, where Alfred had joined him, after his infamous jaunt into “no man’s land,” and Oracle was too preoccupied with Black Canary and the new Batgirl to help him with a personal investigation.

And this _was_ personal. Bruce could not lie to himself and pretend otherwise. It was as personal as any case he had ever undertaken.

It was (in the most twisted sense of the word) _fortunate_ that Ra’s al Ghul had not commanded his agents to be subtle when they stole his parents’ coffins. The assassins had left a gaping hole in the earth, noticed by other mourners as well as by employees of Gotham Cemetery, who had reported the incident to the police.

The GCPD were swamped, investigating both the crimes of the past year and those newly committed, but they always made time for the richest families. Even those who believed they were not corrupt showed a bias for crimes that, in the end, caused nobody permanent damage, and the theft of Thomas and Martha Wayne’s remains (and their subsequent return) was a lurid enough crime to draw out detectives on the Major Crimes Unit.

Those detectives happened to be Harvey Bullock and his partner, Renee Montoya.

Commissioner Gordon had refused Batman’s offer to reveal his secret identity, but Jim was too good a detective not to know after fifteen years. He certainly knew his daughter had been Batgirl, and from there, it was hardly rocket science to figure out everyone else’s identities. In which case, he might have meant well by assigning those detectives to the case. Harvey Bullock was beyond frustrating to work with, but he was loyal to Gordon, above all, and he had investigated the discovery of a body in Bruce Wayne’s wine cellar all those months ago with less gawking and insults than most MCU detectives. And Bruce had recently sent Montoya flowers on behalf of Harvey Dent, which seemed to endear him to her a little, though she was too dedicated an O.G. to really warm up to a deezee.

And more importantly than that, if the story Bruce concocted made enough sense, Bullock and Montoya would leave well enough alone. Out of laziness of Bullock's part and respect on Montoya's, but regardless of their motivation, neither would look any deeper into Bruce Wayne’s life than need be.

Based on her frustration, Montoya thought his story was ironclad. “Alright, so some thieves—you don’t know who—dug up your parents’ coffins and stole their remains. They contacted you via a letter—”

“Which smells like pot,” her partner muttered. At least Bullock appreciated Bruce’s detailwork.

“You forked over the _two million dollar_ ransom,” Montoya continued like he hadn’t spoken, too amazed at the amount of money Bruce was willing to pay to give Bullock the time of day, “and they sent you another letter with the address where your parents’ remains were stored. You went to check it out, _alone,_ and found everything in order. You then called us.” She sighed. “Okay, we’re going to hand over your bank statements to Cyber, but eyeballing this, I doubt we’re going to find these guys. Looks like they covered their tracks very well. For amateurs.”

She glanced up at him slyly, but Bruce didn’t rise to her bait. He was too experienced to give anything away. 

“I wish they had just asked for the money instead of disturbing my parents’ rest, but people are so _desperate_ these days. They couldn’t have been thinking straight.” He sighed as Bullock and Montoya stared at him. “At least my parents’ remains were found unharmed. I was really afraid, you know, that they weren’t really asking for a ransom. There are so many dangerous metahumans and _magicians_ in the world… Who knows what could have happened, if they had really wanted to hurt me? But now my mother and father can be safely reinterred in their graves.”

Bullock snorted.

_“Harvey.”_

“Did I say something funny, Detective Bullock?”

Bullock was silent, but the mulish look on his face reminded Bruce of the aftermath of the Film Freak case when Batman had confronted him over teaming up with Jason without his knowledge. “The kid knows what he's about. You could try to be half as sensible as he is rather than wrapping him in cotton wool and paling around town with your pussycat,” he’d said. Batman certainly hadn’t appreciated it at the time. He still didn’t.

A few seconds passed before Bullock decided, _what the hell,_ and started mouthing off to one of the most powerful men in the city. “Seems to me, if you rebury them in that same plot, you’re asking for trouble. Criminals aren’t the most original bunch, and once this gets out, there are going to be punks who figure if stealing you folks’ bodies got some other guys two million dollars richer, they can make themselves three million dollars richer. Or four, or five. You get me? You’re going to be paying off grave robbers ‘til the day you die, and then your kids are going to be paying off the bastards who rob _your_ grave.”

Bruce could have kissed him. “What do you recommend, Detective Bullock? Detective Montoya already said you’re never going to find these scoundrels, and I don’t see what else I can do to protect my parents.”

Bullock shrugged. “Find a more secure location to reinter 'em in than Gotham Cemetery, that’s for sure, and then wire it up like a nuclear bunker. Hell, if I were you, I’d dig up the whole family. ‘Cause if they can’t get your parents, they’ll nab your son.”

Bruce had known it was coming. He still flinched at the mental image of Jason’s coffin, hanging, suspended over a Lazarus Pit. Bruce been submerged in one himself not two years ago, and he would not wish that disorientation, that madness on anybody, let alone his parents and son. The feeling had passed sooner than he feared, but the memory of it still made him sick.

Montoya cleared her throat. She was looking at Bruce with soft eyes, and even Bullock seemed to realize he had gone too far. “Like you said, Mr. Wayne. The world is a dangerous and unpredictable place, and people are more desperate than ever. As _poorly expressed_ as Harvey’s point was, you might want to consider better security. A relocation might not be a bad idea either, but I don’t know how feasible that is. You’d have to apply for a license, convince a probate court that it was necessary, hire a willing funeral home to transfer the bodies—and that’s if you can get permission from a priest.”

“A reverend,” Bruce said, like the idea was just dawning on him and he liked it, “and a rabbi for my mother.”

He ushered the detectives out the door like a man distracted, and he did not smirk until he was sure they were gone. That had gone better than he expected. Not only would the GCPD’s computer techs tie themselves into knots trying to figure out Oracle’s money transfers, allowing the “ransom” to be anonymously donated (in bits and pieces that would not add up to two million) to shelters and charities across Gotham, but Bullock and Montoya had come up with the exact same plan he had. He’d have to call on them to argue his case if the probate court judge proved difficult.

Whatever mystery there was surrounding Jason’s burial, Bruce would find out. And if he had done anything to harm his son, Ra’s al Ghul would pay. He had all that and more coming to him after the Clench and the Tower of Babel.

The judge had some natural hesitance about disturbing the deceased, but with the theft of his parents’ remains a matter of public record, she said, “There really is no choice.” She even approved his plan to construct a family mausoleum on his property, near where the manor was being rebuilt but not too near as to be “grim,” in Dick’s words, after wondering aloud how a family as wealthy, influential, and long established had come to be buried in the dirt in a public cemetery.

Bruce might have said something about her classism, but he had no room to talk. In his fury, as he hunted the Demon’s Head, he too had wondered at it, and he had regretted the Waynes should be buried in a place where any enemy who discovered his identity could interfere with his ancestors’ remains.

Amid all the other crises happening in Gotham, Bruce Wayne’s scheme to move his family’s remains attracted as little notice as the original theft. A handful decried his family’s abandonment of the city in their time of need, but most people who were paying attention could understand what drove him to it.

Bruce had not wanted to seem overeager, so he decided to have the bodies exhumed and reintered in the order of their deaths. The mausoleum filled up generation by generation: Charles Wayne and his wife; the hero Joshua Wayne, his brother Solomon, and Solomon’s two wives; Solomon’s son Alan and his wife Catherine van Derm; their son Kenneth, who’d died young, and his wife Laura, who had been a Prohibitionist; Kenneth and Laura’s sons, the eldest of whom was Bruce’s grandfather Patrick, and their wives; Thomas and Martha, who could hopefully rest in peace now; and finally Jason.

On the day they were scheduled to reinter Jason in the family mausoleum, Bruce received a phone call. He was not someone who believed in premonitions, but the shiver that ran through him when his phone rang could be nothing else. He answered and said, in his chummiest voice, “Hello, Bruce Wayne speaking.”

The caller took a long pause before speaking. “Mr. Wayne, this is Elaine Carmody with the Carmody Funeral Home. You hired us to relocate your family’s remains?”

People often explained what was already known to delay revealing what was not. Bruce imagined a thousand and one nightmare scenarios in the time it took to breathe in and out, then say, “I do remember.”

“Yes, well, I am afraid there has been a bit of a problem. You see, when our employees went to disinter your son Jason, uh… He isn’t there. He’s _gone._ There’s this giant hole in the coffin and a bunch of dirt inside, and there’s _nothing in there_ _._ My father is calling the police as we speak, sir.”

Bruce’s jaw clenched. “I’ll be right there.”

“I don’t think that’s—”

He hung up. Wayne Manor was half-rebuilt and empty, so there was nobody to stop him or ask him where he was going as Bruce ran at full speed to his car. Once in the driver’s seat, forgoing the seatbelt entirely, he drove to Gotham Cemetery like a bat out of Hell. His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly the joints turned white, and as he drove, he seethed.

_Ra’s al Ghul is going to pay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a multi-chapter story, but considering I should be writing RBBB, I figured I would leave it as a one-shot for now. I might come back to this, I might not. For now, I just want this off my hard drive and out in the cold, cruel world.
> 
> The fact that "Tower of Babel" doesn't even mention Jason is pretty strange considering the entire plot hinges on Bruce's grief over his parents, who have been dead for decades, when Jason has been dead for just a few years, but Mark Waid is not the only writer from that era who completely forgot Jason. In my bitterness, I have decided to make his oversight mean something.
> 
> I know "No Man’s Land" is supposed to take place like ten years into Bruce’s tenure as Batman, but that's obviously nonsense. Tim started out ten years after "Year Three" and has been Robin for like three years, which sets this story in Year 16.
> 
> Bruce took his dip in a Lazarus Pit during "Birth of the Demon," and he sent Renee flowers on Two-Face's behalf in Detective Comics #747. All other references (I believe) are from "Tower of Babel" or "No Man's Land" and its aftermath. Please ask me in the comments if I've missed one because I LOVE recommending comics to people and will do so whether you like it or not.


	2. Chapter 2

Before Bruce could enact his revenge, he had to drive to Gotham Cemetery. Detectives Bullock and Montoya were already there, and once they caught sight of him, they had a brief argument that ended in Montoya coming down the hill while Bullock continued supervising the careful excavation of their only evidence.

“You weren’t wearing your seatbelt,” Montoya said when he got out of his car. She stood in front of him.

Bruce glared at her. Another benefit to relocating his family’s graves onto Wayne property was that nobody could beat him graveside again. “Move, Detective Montoya. I am more than willing to go over your head right now.” With one phone call to the mayor he could have unlimited access. Standing in Bruce Wayne’s way was a waste of her time and his, and she knew it.

She rolled her eyes before she started walking, leading down the familiar path to Jason’s (empty) grave, which was now surrounded by a large circle of police scientists, morticians, and gravekeepers. A lone reporter had beaten Bruce too, but Elaine Carmody stood in front of him, preventing him from taking a single photo as she yelled about _professional pride and standards_ _._ “You _really_ shouldn’t be here for this, Mr. Wayne. This is still our investigation, and I swear, as angry as you are now, the last thing you want to do is get in our way as we try to find out who stole your family's bodies.”

“You believe the same people who took my parents took Jason?” Bruce certainly believed so, but he had evidence Montoya didn’t.

“Maybe. Or maybe not.”

“That isn’t an answer, Detective Montoya.”

Montoya groaned. “You want an answer? Fine, your… _That’s your call._ Three bodies—grandson and grandparents—have gone missing within two weeks, so the obvious conclusion is that the same people took them, right? Except, small problem, they dug up Grandma and Grandpa and left an absurdly neat hole to make sure everybody _knew_ they were gone, coffins and all. They sent a ransom note. Why not do the same with Grandson? The smart thing to do would be to make sure you knew about it, wait until the first check cleared, _then_ demand even more money for the safe return of your son’s remains. But they didn’t do that. You’d never have found out Jason’s body was gone if you hadn’t decided to move his body to this brand-new family mausoleum.”

“Elaine said there was a hole in the coffin.”

Montoya shot the mortician a nasty look, but Elaine was too preoccupied to notice. “That’s right, which is what makes it so unlikely this is the same group. Criminals do not change their M.O. this suddenly.”

 _Unless there are other factors at play,_ Bruce silently amended, but he didn’t know what those factors were. Yet.

Bullock shook his head as Bruce and Montoya walked up to him. “This is one hell of a coincidence,” he said as he tapped Jason’s coffin, now entirely unearthed, with the toe of his boot. Elaine had not been exaggerating when she described the hole in it as “giant.”

“Or that’s what they want us to think. Let’s not rule anything out yet. What do the techs have?”

“Just one thing. Ain’t confirmed yet, so don’t go running to our reporter friend over there, but Tomlinson thinks this hole doesn’t look like somebody cut their way in. He says it looks like somebody punched their way _out._ ”

Bruce stared down in horror. “Jason.”

Bullock eyed Bruce sympathetically. “Was your boy a meta?”

“No. He was tested, but it was negative.”

 _He dug his way out of his grave._ Bruce didn’t want to think the situation could get any sicker than that, but he knew it could. He tried not to picture his son waking up in a coffin, desperate and afraid, punching his way out and digging upwards, but he couldn’t stop the images from coming. And then what happened? Had the assassins already been there waiting for him, or had they stumbled across him by accident? And if they had found him by accident, then why had the gravekeepers filled in the hole Jason had dug? 

Guiltily, Bruce remembered how often he had missed his weekly visit to Gotham Cemetery over the past few years. This could have happened at any point, and he would never have known if Ra’s al Ghul hadn’t dug up his parents. He couldn’t be grateful. Ra’s al Ghul was not careless, and if he had set in motion a series of events that led to this moment, he had something planned. And his plans were always deadly.

“Magic, probably,” Bullock said as though he knew a single thing about magic. “You’ve made a fair number of enemies recently, Mr. Wayne. Any one of them could have hired a necromancer to mess around with your boy. Don’t know why, but it can’t be for any good reason. Montoya, drive him to the station and put together a list of possible suspects. Then file a request to access the Justice League database. Magic users, demon summoners, you can guess the search parameters well enough. I can stick around here while the techs finish up.”

When they reached GCPD headquarters Montoya took Bruce into an interview room where he was picture-perfect, recounting every single person “Bruce Wayne” had feuded with over the last three and a half years. He did not stop her from filing the request with the JLA, though he wanted to, and he was therefore not surprised when he found Superman waiting for him in the skeleton of his once and future home.

“Are you alright?” Clark asked as though he hadn’t broken into Bruce’s home and made himself comfortable.

“Do you care?”

Clark frowned, looking more like Jonathan Kent than any alien had a right to. “You’re still my friend, Bruce. Of course I care. I’ll always care.”

“But you don’t trust me.”

“We’re not having this fight right now. I’m not giving you the satisfaction.” He glanced around the house. “You’re changing more than I thought you would.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. If they weren’t going to discuss the Tower of Babel incident, then why the hell should they discuss the reconstruction of Wayne Manor? They both knew Clark was only here because he feared how unhinged Bruce became when his son was involved. He had been there after Jason was killed. Bruce had broken his hand when he punched the Kryptonian in the face, and later, Clark had dragged him to Smallville, thinking his precious hometown could cure the Batman’s ills.

Where Clark had delivered his neighbor’s baby and named the child “Jason.”

That memory made Bruce, reluctantly, more civil when he asked, “Were you that attached to the architecture before?”

Clark noticed and raised an eyebrow. “Of course not. I have no opinion on Victorian Gothic Revival architecture. I was making small talk so you’d be in a better mood before we discussed the information request that just came through the League’s system.”

“You’re honest, at least.”

“I like to think I know my moment,” he said lightly. “Do you think Jason is alive?”

Bruce could talk about this with Clark now, or he could go over the case with Dick and Tim, who would accuse him of having “blindspots” again. Alfred and Leslie would be little better, and Barbara would equivocate, too aware of all the variables to support one conclusion (yet). And discussing this with Batgirl or Spoiler would be ridiculous, considering they had never known Jason and didn’t even know who Batman really was.

“He’s _mobile,_ definitely. Perhaps conscious, to a certain degree.”

Clark grimaced. “Is there any way of narrowing down when the, uh, _incident_ occurred?”

“It would help if I knew when the League of Assassins got their hands on him.”

“That’s how this all got started, then? Your parents…”

Bruce turned away. The makeshift entrance to the Cave was nearby, and he had never gotten over his distaste for discussing vigilante matters in the house. He couldn’t be sure there were no construction workers nearby either, though the sun was setting and they should all be gone for the day.

“Well, at least this isn’t changing,” Clark said as they descended the stairs.

“It wasn’t too badly damaged in the Quake.”

“Sure.”

Bruce sat down in front of the computer and opened up the database he had built years ago to search through all records in Gotham County at once. If Jason had not risen at the command of Ra’s al Ghul or his agents, if he had been found by them at some later point, then there probably was some record of Jason that the League of Assassins had used to find him.

He needed to know _something_ before he charged out to fight Ra’s yet again. He had been foolish before, and he had fallen right into the trap laid for him. This time, he would be prepared and dangerous when he struck at the League. He could not rely on receiving backup.

“Would you like help, Bruce?” asked Clark. Bruce’s hands froze over the keyboard, and he wondered for a second whether Clark too had been keeping secrets all these years, hiding the Kryptonian ability to read minds.

He scoffed. “Are you offering?”

Clark shrugged. “Nobody else is here, and as furious as I am with you right now, Jason never did anything to upset me. If anything, I owe him my life, and I wouldn’t mind a chance to make good on my debt.”

“Hn.”

Clark would be the first to admit that he was no Lois Lane, but he was still one of the finest investigative journalists in the world. His help could be invaluable in finding Jason with only the scant few clues Bruce had. But Bruce didn’t _want_ to accept his offer. He had his pride, just like anybody else, and he balked at accepting Clark’s help mere days after he voted to kick Batman off of the team he had founded.

 _“Do you really value your pride more than your son?”_ asked the nasty little voice in his head. It sounded like his mother when Martha had been well and truly done with someone. _“Jason, who needed you and whom you failed?”_

Bruce jerked his head at the other computer terminal. Clark was seated there before Bruce could blink, and he joined in the search for a teenaged boy, aged fifteen to eighteen, with black hair and blue-green eyes who would have needed medical treatment at some point over the past three years.

Hours passed before they found a match.

Bruce was at first shocked, then horrified. He had not expected to read how, six months after he buried his son, an unidentified boy in his mid-teens had been hit by a car twelve and a half miles outside Gotham Cemetery, but when he was taken to the hospital, the nurses (and later the police) were just as intrigued by the fact that he was dressed in a damaged suit, nearly beaten to death, and had bloody, torn fingers "like he had dug himself out of somewhere."

They had tried their best to find answers, but these were not MCU detectives. They searched a ten-mile radius around the incident site for the hole he dug himself out of, not suspecting that Jason was capable of walking further in such a state, and his fingerprints had not pinged anything in the missing persons database (or anywhere else) because he was missed, but not _missing_.

All they had to go on were his last words before he went into the coma. _"Bruce… my dad…"_

(Bruce ignored the pang and read on determinedly.)

A year later, Jason woke up and walked out of Huntington Convalescent Home where he had been placed. There was even security camera footage, disputing the immediate assumption that Jason had not woken up but had been taken.

That still left two years unaccounted for. It didn’t tell him where Jason was now or how Ra’s al Ghul learned about his resurrection. And Bruce had no theory to work with. He would be going in completely ignorant, but he couldn’t delay his response any longer. 

“Are you alright?” Clark asked.

“No.” Bruce glanced over at him. “You can leave,” he said. “Lois must be expecting you, and I’m not going to chase down Ra’s al Ghul tonight.”

“But you are going to chase down his daughter tomorrow?” Clark raised his eyebrow. Bruce remained silent. “I’m not letting you do this alone. So you have three choices: Call Dick in on this, include me, or suffer me following you around, interfering in your investigation when you least want me to.”

It was a dare. Clark didn't mention that Bruce knew exactly how to stop him, if he wanted to, because he wanted to know whether Bruce would bring it up himself. And Bruce, who had seen the effects of his plans, couldn't. 

"How the whole world doesn't know what an asshole you are is beyond me."

"It's my best-kept secret," Clark agreed. "See you tomorrow. Give me the scoop on Jason when you go public, and Perry won't say a word… _boss._ "

He disappeared in a gust of wind.

Bruce scowled. "I should have left him and the entire _Planet_ at Luthor's mercy."

He probably only imagined Clark’s answering laughter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't know where I'm going with this, but what the hell: This chapter was written, and now it's published.
> 
> Superman stops Batman from killing the Joker in "A Death in the Family." He takes Batman to Smallville, delivers a resident's baby, and names him "Jason" in World's Finest (1999) #7. 
> 
> Dick and Tim accuse Bruce of having "blindspots" in Gotham Knights #1. They were right (in that case). That issue also deals with the post-NML rebuilding of Wayne Manor a little. (And the Batcave was definitely damaged. I'd have to dig up the issue to be sure, but as I remember, Aquaman was needed to get the Giant Penny.)
> 
> Clark owes Jason his life due to the events of "The Man Who Has Everything."
> 
> The barebones of Jason's resurrection is from Batman Annual #25.
> 
> Bruce has been Clark’s boss since he bought the Daily Planet in Superman vol. 2 #151, but he wasn't revealed to be the secret owner until Superman vol. 2 #168. The reveal happened after the Tower of Babel fallout (reinterpreted next chapter), but fuck it, life sucks and I want to have fun.


	3. Chapter 3

Talia al Ghul was in Switzerland. Her chalet was small and elegant, with minimum security. Undoubtedly she thought discretion would hide her from her father and Batman both. She was wrong.

She had time to prepare for his coming, but not to run, which was how he came to find her swimming in the chalet's indoor pool, wearing a one-piece swimsuit that expertly flattered her without the crudity of open seduction. As she pulled herself out of the water, Bruce wondered whether she was aware that Superman was in the air high above them, ready to leap into action at a word from Batman. He hoped she was.

"Where's Jason?" growled Batman. She toweled her hair dry, unintimidated.

"Is that the best greeting I earn, beloved?"

"I don't have time for this, Talia. Where is my son?"

Talia dropped the towel onto the floor. "What makes you so certain I know where he is?" She adopted a compassionate expression, but Bruce wasn't fooled. Talia had never cared about the children under his care. She had ruthlessly needled Dick until he felt insecure in his own home, and both times she had met Jason, she set Bruce’s teeth on edge, either by dismissing out of hand the idea that Bruce would look after Jason (because a man like Bruce needed _mobility,_ apparently) or by calling him "the boy." "I have heard whispers that his grave was found empty. I am so sorry, beloved."

"You have an excellent information for someone in hiding," he praised sarcastically. "Tell me, why are your sources keeping you updated on an empty coffin found in Gotham Cemetery when any communication could be used to trace you here?"

Talia stepped closer and lifted her hand to caress the armor over his heart. "I always keep myself updated on _your_ comings and goings."

Batman gave no reaction to her touch except to take a step backwards. Her lips curled unpleasantly for a split second before she mastered herself and adopted an indifferent mask.

"You should be more careful, Talia. The CIA is very eager to put you behind bars after you helped kill millions of people, and they aren't alone. I think every intelligence service in the world has put together a team just to find you."

"I had no choice. Do you think I wished to sully my hands with assassin's work?"

 _That_ was what she objected to? She didn't think she should have to do gruntwork, but it was alright that millions died?

He should have known. Talia had never spoken against her father's plans before, not in all the years they had known each other. She had saved _him_ from those schemes, but she had done nothing to stop the Clench or to stop Ra’s al Ghul from weaponizing the ozone layer. She had not spoken against the Tower of Babel until too many had died.

That was unacceptable. All deaths were unacceptable.

"You stole the plans to stop the Justice League off my computer, and you said nothing to stop your father's plans until it was almost too late. Don't expect mercy from the courts because no one is going to buy your excuses this time." Batman exhaled. "Tell me where my son is, and I am willing to give you a twenty-four hour head start." Clark hadn’t been pleased by that, but they both knew he had to offer her something.

Talia crossed her arms. "What makes you think I know where Jason is?"

"Because your father didn't steal his body," he said simply.

"That is hardly an argument."

"You and your father might not accept that Jason is my son, but you can't deny what he means to me. Even Neron knew to offer me Jason rather than my parents in exchange for my soul, and don’t pretend your father is any less devious than a true demon. I know you have Jason. _Tell me where he is._ "

Talia stared at him. Batman didn't know what she saw in his body language and the sliver of his face that was visible, but whatever it was, it made her honest. "I do not know where he is now," she said. "I assume he is in Gotham, but my agents have yet to pick back up his trail. It seems you trained him too well, Detective."

"When did you get your hands on him?"

Talia brushed her damp hair out of her face. "A year ago," she admitted unashamedly.

It took no further prompting to make Talia tell him everything. She didn't think she had done anything wrong.

She did not say so, but it quickly became obvious that this had happened while Batman was preoccupied with the plague her father had unleashed. When he was too distracted to notice or prompt his informants for less urgent rumors, Talia's spies in Gotham had reported whispers of a silent, seemingly unintelligent homeless boy who had the same skills as a Robin. The boy had been brought to her, and of course she had recognized Jason Todd.

She had not brought him to Bruce. She had taken him to a League of Assassins base where he had been tested like a lab rat. He could not speak, but he did show signs that he remembered his past life—he did not strike Talia even when she struck him first, he wept when someone spoke of Bruce or showed him a photograph.

Soon, however, Ra’s al Ghul grew tired of their lack of progress. He wanted to know the means of Jason's resurrection, and if they could not discover that, he had no use for the boy. He intended to get rid of him, but Talia pointedly did not say "kill him." Bruce was free to interpret that as he would. So she had pushed Jason into a Lazarus Pit to cure his injuries and then helped him escape her father's wrath. Jason had managed to evade the League of Assassins ever since, but Talia, who stayed behind, had been forced to prove her loyalty.

"That is why I stole those plans off your computer and acted upon them. My father was furious that I allowed an inferior to use a Lazarus Pit, and he demanded that I prove I am still true to him and his vision."

She looked at him beseechingly. Batman looked away and asked, "Why didn't you bring Jason to me the second you found him?"

"Beloved, I told you how he was. You would not have wanted him in that state. He was almost completely witless and dependent upon the care of others."

Batman was stunned silent, but not for long. "You don't understand parenting at all, do you?" he snapped. "I am Jason’s _father. I_ am the one who is supposed to take care of him when he needs help. To care for him when he needed me most, to have him with me at all when I thought he was lost forever, would have been the greatest calling in my life."

Talia scoffed. "You would give up your holy quest for one child?" she asked disbelievingly.

"You know I would."

The allusion to their shared loss did not escape her. "Once I found your sentimentality a charming quirk," she said with quiet anger and careful cruelty, after a moment's pause, "but now I think you are weak. Too weak to set aside childish notions. You are forty years old, and still you believe you can build a family with these urchins you take in. You believe you can reform the criminals you fight. It is pathetic, truthfully, and not at all fitting for the Heir of the Demon."

That might have hurt him, if he had ever wanted to be the Heir of the Demon.

"And I used to think you were a good person," he replied coldly. That _did_ hurt her, just like he knew it would.

Batman left Talia to pack her bags and find a way out of Switzerland on her own. If Ra’s al Ghul or his agents were on her tail, he didn’t care. If the CIA was, he hoped they succeeded with a minimum loss of life.

Bruce Wayne met Clark Kent in a charming little cafe in Zermatt that happened to lack security cameras, a must considering the chairman of Wayne Enterprises' board should be in Gotham and the _Daily Planet's_ foreign correspondent should be in Japan.

"You have interesting taste in women," Clark said rather than diving into the real matter at hand.

Bruce snorted. "You don't know the half of it."

"I am sorry that she betrayed your trust." He could not have said it more grudgingly, but Bruce was not in a position to reject freely offered sympathy. "I know we were… _reluctant_ to acknowledge how her betrayal hurt you after we learned whose plans they were and how she got them, but I am sorry. And I'm sorry that she hid Jason from you for a year."

"Thank you." Bruce took a deep breath, then said, "I'm sorry too. I should have been more careful with those plans. They were only supposed to be used in an absolute emergency, but due to my carelessness, they were used by our enemies."

Clark eyed him over the rim of his glasses. "That isn’t the reason we're upset," he said matter-of-factly. "Not the _whole_ reason, anyway. And you know that."

If Clark thought Bruce would apologize for using his personal knowledge of the Justice League to prepare for a worst case scenario, then he was stupider than Bruce had ever imagined.

"Was Talia telling the truth?"

Clark sighed. He obviously had not expected Bruce to act as he wished, but he had hoped. "As far as I could tell. Experienced liars can fool me from time to time. But if she _were_ lying, it wasn't to make herself look better. The truth can't put her in a worse light than that tale she spun." He shook his head in disbelief.

Bruce let that one go. Whatever he had once seen in Talia, years ago when they first met, had either been lost over time or had never existed. He didn't know which option was sadder, so he focused a happier thought:

His son was alive and well. He had recovered enough from his injury and the shock of the Lazarus Pit to evade the League of Assassins, which was no mean feat. He might even be in Gotham as they sat here, drinking coffee. Bruce would laugh himself hoarse if Jason had made his way home while Bruce was halfway across the world looking for him. From the moment they met, Jason could always make him laugh like that.

And he would again, but the house he returned to would not _home_. The Quake had taken that from them. All that remained of Jason's home was a box of random belongings that had been recovered from his room and the plot of land on which it stood. Bruce _knew_ he should have stuck to the original house plan, but everyone had advised against it. He shouldn't have listened to them.

Clark finished his coffee. "Do you need help searching for him?"

"No." Gotham was his city still. If Batman was no longer a member of the Justice League, then the Justice League was no longer welcome in Gotham.

"Right. You have your pride, so on and so forth. Just do me one favor?"

"I thought you were doing this for Jason, not me."

Clark ignored him. "Talk to Oracle. Bring her in on this. You did a lot of damage to her reputation with the League, and she is furious with you. Justifiably. Keeping her off this case is just going to make her angrier. She adored Jason."

She had. Jason had been the only one of them who shared Barbara’s love for learning for its own sake, and that was still true, even though their team had doubled in his absence. Bruce was suddenly ashamed of himself. Jason was going to be disgusted when he found out how easily Bruce had accepted Batgirl's lack of education. Her lack of a life outside of the mission. He was going to side with Barbara.

But Bruce could bear that. He could bear almost anything as long as Jason came home where he belonged. He would rip down the entire manor and rebuild it to Jason’s specifications and finance an entirely new university, just for him and Cassandra, if Jason asked it of him.

"Fine," he said.

Clark tilted his head to one side. Was Bruce too experienced a liar to believe now too?

"I will call Barbara as soon as I get back to the manor," he swore. _Provided that Jason isn't waiting for me on the front stoop when I get there,_ he silently amended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter borrows more than a little from Detective Comics #750, but unlike Mark Waid and Greg Rucka, I refuse to believe the world is going to give Talia a free pass because she realized at the eleventh hour that genocide is icky. She was an accomplice in the deaths of millions of people, she's going to the Slab (at least).
> 
> Talia fakes a miscarriage ("their shared loss") in "Son of the Demon." It isn't outright said that Bruce wanted to quit as Batman because of Damian, but it is heavily suggested. The plot to weaponize the ozone layer is from "Bride of the Demon," and the Clench is from "Contagion."
> 
> Talia's two meetings with Jason are in Detective Comics #526 and Batman #400. She has always needled Dick, but Dick says he won't live under the same roof as her specifically during "the Lazarus Affair." And I cannot find a single scene where Talia and Tim _interacted_ pre-Tower of Babel, though they were in scenes _together_ , so I had to write around that.
> 
> Batman rejects the demon Neron's offer to resurrect Jason in Underworld Unleashed #2. It is also by Mark Waid, and I find that puzzling. Is Bruce more upset by his parents' deaths or Jason’s? Make up your mind, Waid!


End file.
